They said very little now. John drove on through a great happy silence.
All the omens were good, and he believed that they would escape. Surely,
fortune was with them when they had been able to come so far without
challenge. The sun swam over the earth and threw golden beams into the
valley. On their right a swift stream chattered over the stones and
further away on their left rose the steep slopes, heavy with forest.
They passed farmers and shepherds who had little time to take notice, as
they saw the great machine but a moment, and then it was gone.

John had his mind set on escape by the way of the Adriatic. He had heard
rumors that Italy might enter the war on the side of the Allies, but he
knew that it had not yet taken any action and he had high hopes of
finding a path to safety in that direction. Meanwhile, and whatever came
of it, he must press on.

Toward noon he slackened speed, and they ate a little from the supplies
they carried in the automobile. Just as they finished Suzanne held up
her hand: "I think I hear another machine coming," she said.

"You are right," said John, after he had listened intently for a full
minute. "It's the humming sound of tires, but it's only one automobile.
Of that I'm sure, and I think it's a light one. We'll drive on at
moderate speed, attending strictly to our own business."

But he loosened the revolver in his belt, and while he appeared to look
straight ahead he had eye and ear also for the approaching machine,
which obviously was coming at a great pace.

"Then we have nothing to fear," said John. "But the figure of the man at
the wheel looks familiar."

"Ah!" said John, drawing a deep breath. In that region a familiar face
could scarcely be the face of a friend. He stiffened a little, and cast
another look at the revolver in his belt to see that it was convenient
to his hand. Then, to indicate that he was not running away and to
prevent suspicion, he slackened the speed of the machine. As he did so
the humming behind them rapidly grew louder and a light runabout drew up
by their side. John uttered a cry of amazement as he saw the man at the
wheel.

It was Weber, the Alsatian, in civilian clothing, his black beard
trimmed nicely to a point, his eyes flashing a smile of welcome, as he
took off his cap and bowed low to John and Mademoiselle Julie Lannes,
but lower to Julie. John brought his machine down to a slow pace, and
there was room for Weber's by their side in the road.

"You never dreamed of being overtaken by me here," said the Alsatian,
smiling again, and showing his white teeth.

"No," replied John. "It never occurred to me that it was you behind us."

"After all, I am, I think, your good angel. In your flight with
Mademoiselle Lannes you need advice and guidance, and I can give both."

"You do appear at the most opportune times. It has become a habit for
which I am grateful."

"It's not chance that I'm here. It's pursuit and design. You know my
duties as a spy, an ugly name, perhaps, but one that calls for daring
and patriotism. Hearing of the council held at Zillenstein by Prince
Karl of Auersperg I went there to learn what I could of it. The
information that I was able to secure is in the hands of a confederate
now on his way to Paris, and I remained to probe into the mystery of
Mademoiselle Lannes' disappearance."

"Very quickly. I discovered, too, that Mademoiselle Lannes and her maid
had been taken away by a young chauffeur, coming from somewhere in
Lorraine, who had been only a short time at the castle. Knowing you for
what you are, Mr. Scott, and understanding your devotion, I leaped at
once to the conclusion that it was you. I slipped away as soon as the
snow melted sufficiently, and was the first from the outside world to
reach the lodge. The absence of the limousine, the tire tracks leading
toward Tellnitz and other evidence at the lodge showed without doubt
that my conclusions were right."

"Without delay. I reached Tellnitz, where you stopped, obtained this
light machine and came on at speed. It will be my pleasure to help as
much as I can you and the sister of the great Philip Lannes, the first
aviator of France."

"You left France after we did, Monsieur Weber," said Julie. "Did you
hear anything of Philip?"

"That he had recovered fully of his wound, Mademoiselle, and that he and
the Arrow were once more in the service of his country. He knows of
your abduction by Prince Karl of Auersperg. A friend, an aviator,
Delaunois, furnished him with many facts, and I cannot doubt that he
will come over Austria in the Arrow to seek your rescue."

The eyes of Julie, John and Suzanne, as with one impulse, turned upward.
It seemed to John, for a moment or two, that his vivid imagination could
fairly create the slender and graceful shape of Philip's aeroplane,
outlined against the sky. But the heavens were flawless, a pure,
unbroken blue, without speck or stain, and he suppressed a little sigh
of disappointment.

"Somewhat. It was a part of my work before the war to pass through all
the regions of Germany and Austria, and learn as much of them as I
could. At the end of this valley is a small village called Obenstein,
where perhaps it would be wise for us to spend the next night. After
that we must devise some method of getting out of Austria--and I do not
seek to conceal from you that it will be a most difficult task. Perhaps
it would be better to change your plan and enter Switzerland, a neutral
country. It, of course, would end your service as a soldier, but that, I
take it, would be no great hardship to you now."

The color came into John's face, but he was bound to admit that Weber
was right. His interest in the war had become far less than his interest
in Julie Lannes.

"Perhaps we can tell better after we spend the night at Obenstein," he
said.

"Nothing can be hurt by reserving our verdict until tomorrow," said
Weber. "Obenstein is very secluded. I believe that it has neither
telephone nor telegraph, and we'll surely be able to leave it tomorrow
before any pursuit can reach us."

The Alsatian now led the way in his light machine, and the limousine
followed at an interval of fifty or sixty yards. One hour, then two and
three passed, and nothing came in the way of their easy and rapid
progress. It all seemed too smooth and fortunate to John. It was
incredible that they could travel thus great distances through Austria,
the land of the enemy. He knew that chance had a way of finding a
balance, and violent and fierce events might be before them.

But as he drove on he scanned the heavens now and then with a questing
eye. It had not occurred to him until Weber spoke that all of them might
escape through the air. Lannes would trail them, not on the earth, but
through mists and clouds. He would come, too, with friends almost as
daring and skillful as himself, perhaps with Caumartin and the two,
Castelneau and Mery, who had responded to the thrilling signal near
Salzburg, when he took his first flight. His blood leaped and danced,
and once more his eyes roved over the blue in search of the Arrow.

They came to Obenstein a little before dusk. It was a tiny village,
almost hidden in a recess of the mountain, with a shaggy pine forest
rising above it and casting its shadow over the houses. But there was a
small, neat inn, and a garage for the machines, and the guests were
received with the same hospitality that had been shown at Tellnitz. John
again spread the rumor that it was a princess of the house of Auersperg
who came, and he added Weber to the list of those who were attending her
in her flight to a safer region. Julie withdrew as before to her room
with her maid, but giving John, before she went, the brilliant smile of
faith and confidence that would have sent him, sword in hand, against
dragons.

He and Weber sat awhile in the little smoking-room talking in low tones
of their journey. Most of the time they were alone, a waiter merely
passing through now and then, and they had no fear of being overheard.

"Weber," he said, "I've learned from the innkeeper that a mountain road
leads from here toward Switzerland and I feel sure already that your
suggestion about our escaping into that country is good. You, of course,
when you reach the border will do as you choose, as you will want to
continue the dangerous work upon which you're engaged. But you may be
sure that if we do get through, Mademoiselle Lannes and I will never
forget the help that you have given us."

"All that I do I do gladly," said Weber. "You may not have spoken to
each other but it is easy for me to tell how matters stand between
Mademoiselle Lannes and you."

"And you will take her to America for the present, or at least Until the
war is over. Ah, well! You're a happy man! Youth and the springtime!
Beauty and love! Kings can procure no more and seldom as much! I think
I'll walk in the air a little and have a smoke."

"And I," said John, "will go to sleep. I've a tiny room on the ground
floor, but it's big enough to hold me. Good night."

There was only a single window in John's little room, but before
undressing he opened it and stood there to breathe the cool night air
for a while. It looked upon the forest that ran up the slope of the
mountain, and the odor of the pines was very pleasant. Looking idly at
the trunks and the foliage he saw a shadow pass into the depths of the
forest and something, a pulse in his temple, perhaps, struck a warning
note.

A shiver ran down his back and his hair lifted, as if touched with
electric sparks. Acting at once under impulse he touched the pistol
inside the pocket of his jacket to see that it was all right, and
slipped out of the room.

He had marked the point at which the shadow disappeared in the forest
and he followed it on light foot. He had been awakened as if a stroke of
lightning had blazed suddenly before his eyes, and now his brain was
seething with fierce thoughts, called up by a long chain of incidents,
all at once made complete.

His hand slipped again to the revolver and he drew it forth, holding it
ready for instant use. Then he went forward swiftly again on noiseless
steps, and once more he caught a glimpse of the flitting shadow straight
ahead. He increased his speed and the shadow resolved itself into the
figure of a man, a figure that seemed familiar to him.

Two or three times the man stopped and looked back, but John had shrunk
behind a tree and no pursuit was visible. Then he resumed his rapid
flight up the steep slope, and young Scott persistently followed, never
once losing sight of the active figure.

The way led to the crest of the mountain which hung about two thousand
feet above the village and it was a climb requiring some time and
endurance, but though John's pulse beat fast it was with excitement and
not with exhaustion. At the summit he saw the figure emerge upon an open
space upon which stood a slender round tower of considerable height.

John stopped at the edge of the pines and saw the figure disappear
within the tower, upon the summit of which something presently began to
flash and crackle. He caught his breath and the blood leaped fiercely
through his veins. He knew that the tower was a wireless signal station
and that it was talking to another somewhere. It sent, too, as he well
knew, through the velvety blue of the night the message that
Mademoiselle Julie Lannes, Suzanne, her maid, and John Scott, the
American, were in the village of Obenstein where they could be taken.

He cursed himself for a fool, thrice a fool! Why had he not understood
long before? Why had he not seen that so many coincidences could not be
the result of chance? Only design and skill could have brought them
about! Who had disabled the automobile in that flight with Carstairs and
Wharton from the Germans? Who had sought to delay Lannes until he could
be caught by the enemy? Who was the mysterious man in the aeroplane who
had wounded Philip, who had led John from the chateau under the very
rifles of the waiting marksmen, and who had been responsible for Julie's
capture at Chastel? That letter, purporting to be from Philip, and
directing her to come to Chastel, was surely a forgery!

These and all the other details crashed upon him with cumulative force,
and he was so mad with fury that he thought his heart would burst with
the surging blood. Why had the man worked with such energy and such
cruel persistence against him? But his wonder quickly passed, because
the reason did not matter now. Instead he put his finger on the trigger
of the automatic and waited.

The wireless flashed and crackled for five minutes, then five minutes of
silence and the figure of Weber reappeared at the base of the tower. He
lingered there for a little space looking warily about him, before he
began the descent of the mountain, and John quietly withdrew further
into the pines. Weber presently crossed the open space, entering the
forest, and John, noiseless, retreated before him.

Thus they proceeded down the mountain until the wireless tower was left
several hundred yards behind and they were buried deep in the pine
forest. Then John stepped suddenly into the road not twenty yards before
the Alsatian and leveling his automatic said sharply:

"Because you have been upon the wireless tower signaling to our
enemies. I've just understood everything, Weber. You're a German and not
a French spy, and you've played the traitor to Julie and Philip Lannes
and me all along."

There was enough moonlight for John to see that Weber's face was
distorted by an evil smile.

"You've been a trifle slow in discovering just what I am," he said,
calmly. "I've wondered that a young man of your perception didn't find
me out earlier."

John flushed. The Alsatian's effrontery, in truth, had been amazing and
in that perhaps lay his success--so far.

"It's true," he said, "I should have suspected you sooner, but it did
not occur to me that human nature could be so vile. To undertake such
risks and to use so much trickery and guile there must be a powerful
motive, and in your case I can't guess it. Now, Weber, why did you do
it?"

"Let me drop my hands, Mr. Scott, and I'll answer you," said Weber.
"It's difficult to argue a case in such a strained and awkward
position."

"Put them down, then, but remember that I'm watching you, and that I'm
willing to shoot. Now, go ahead. Why have you been such a persistent
enemy of Mademoiselle Lannes, her brother and myself? Why have you been
such a triple traitor?"

"Don't call me a traitor, because a traitor I am not. On the contrary I
am loyal with a loyalty of which you, John Scott, an American, know
nothing. I've called myself an Alsatian, but really I am not. I am an
Austrian. I was born on the Zillenstein estate of Prince Karl of
Auersperg. My family has served his for a thousand years. Great as I
hold Hapsburg and Hohenzollern, Auersperg means even more to me. The
Auerspergs are the very essence and spirit of that aristocracy and rule
of the very highborn, in which I believe and to which your country and
later the French have stood in the exact opposite. Every time that my
pulse beats within me it beats with the wish that you and all that you
stand for should fail."

John did not feel the slightest doubt of Weber's sincerity. The
increasing moonlight, falling in a silver flood across his face, showed
too clearly his earnestness. Yet that earnestness was not good to look
upon. It was sinister, tinged strongly with the beliefs of an old and
wicked past. He too, like his master, was of the Middle Ages.

"And so in all these deeds you were serving Prince Karl of Auersperg?"
said John.

"To the death. It was a false escape that I planned for you at the
chateau. You were to have been shot down, but by an unlucky chance you
escaped in the water."

"And when Prince Karl coveted Mademoiselle Julie Lannes--and I do not
blame him--I was of the most help to him in that matter so near to his
heart. Do you understand that it was a great honor he offered
Mademoiselle Lannes, to make her his morganatic wife? He need not have
offered her so much."

The great pulse in John's throat beat heavily and his hand pressed the
automatic, but he compressed his lips and said nothing.

"I see that my words anger you," continued Weber, "but from my point of
view I am right. I serve my overlord!"

"Doubtless you have guessed it. I was sending word to the detachment now
on the road from Zillenstein to come here for Mademoiselle Lannes, her
maid and you. They're ahorse, and they should arrive in three hours and
you can't possibly escape. Before Prince Karl was compelled to leave for
the theater of war he put this most important affair in my charge. He
has not yet yielded all hope of Mademoiselle Lannes."

"It may be true that we can't escape, but what of yourself, Weber? We're
alone in the forest and I hold the whip hand. The score that I owe you
is large. You may have wrecked the life of Mademoiselle Julie and
perhaps you will destroy my own, but you said it would be three hours
before the detachment arrived, and I need only a few seconds."

Absorbed in the talk John had unconsciously lowered the automatic, and,
as agile as a panther, Weber suddenly leaped to one side, snatched a
revolver from his own pocket and pulled the trigger. But the bullet flew
wild. A huge shadow hovered over him and a weight crashed upon his head,
smiting him down as if he had been struck by a giant shell. He sank in
the path and lay motionless, dead ere he fell.

John stared, stricken with horror. The great shadow bent down a moment
over the fallen man, then straightened itself up again, and two eyes in
which the vengeful fire had not yet died gazed at John. Then as his
dazed mind cleared he saw and knew. It was Antoine Picard, the gigantic
and faithful servitor of the Lannes family.

"Antoine! Antoine!" cried John. "How did you come here? I thought you
were in Munich!"

"It seems, your honor, that I'm here at the right moment. His bullet
would certainly have found your heart had not my club descended upon his
head at the very instant that his finger touched the trigger. He'll
never stir again."

"But Antoine, it's you, yourself! It doesn't seem real that you should
be here at such a time!"

"It's none other than Antoine Picard, your honor, and he never struck a
truer or more timely blow. They were to hold me a prisoner in Munich,
but I escaped. I did not return to France. I could never desert
Mademoiselle Julie, and I followed. My size drew their attention, but in
one way or another I kept down suspicion or escaped them. I traced
Mademoiselle Julie and my daughter to the great castle and then to the
lodge on the mountain. I saw the traitor who lies so justly dead here
talking with German troops, and I knew that there was need for me to
hasten. In the night I stole the horse of a Uhlan and galloped to
Obenstein.

"I approached the inn just in time to see the traitor come forth, and
knowing that he was bent upon some devil's work I followed him to the
signal tower. I did not see you until he started back and then I bided
my time. I was in the bush not ten feet from him while you talked."

"As it would be hard to explain my presence, your honor, suppose I wait
down the road for you. I've already turned the horse loose in the
forest. First I'll move this from the path lest someone see it and give
the alarm too soon."

He lifted the body of Weber and hid it among the bushes. Then they
separated, John returning quickly to the inn. He saw a light in Julie's
window and inferring that she had not yet retired he went hastily to her
room and knocked on the door.

"It's John!" he replied, guardedly. "Open at once, Julie! We're in great
danger and must act quickly!"

He heard the bolt shoot back, the door was opened, and Julie stood
before him, pale but erect and courageous. Behind her, as usual, hovered
the protecting shadow of Suzanne. John stepped inside and closed the
door.

"Julie," he said, in a whisper, sharp with anxiety, "we must leave
Obenstein in fifteen minutes! Weber is a traitor in the service of
Prince Karl of Auersperg! He followed us to get you back to him! He has
been signaling from a wireless station on the mountain! A detachment of
hussars will be here in three hours!"

Her pallor deepened, but the courage that he loved still glowed in her
eyes.

"No, Julie, I did not kill him. It was a stronger arm than mine that
struck the blow. Suzanne, your father is waiting for us in the forest.
He has followed us all the way from Munich to Zillenstein, to the lodge,
and here to Obenstein. It was he who sent Weber to the doom that he
deserved."

"Ah!" said Suzanne, and John saw her stern eyes shining. She was the
worthy daughter of her father.

"Put on your cloaks and hoods at once," said John, "and I'll have the
automobile out in a few minutes! It doesn't matter what they think at
the inn. We disregard it and fly."

Suzanne, quick and capable, began to prepare her mistress and John went
down to the innkeeper. He was so swift and emphatic that the worthy
Austrian was dazed, and, after all a princess of the house of Auersperg
had a right to her whims. It was not for him to question the minds of
the great, and the heavy gold piece that John dropped into his hands was
potent to allay undue curiosity.

The automobile properly equipped was before the main door of the inn
within ten minutes. John helped into it the hooded and cloaked figure of
the great lady, and her maid, also hooded and cloaked, followed. Then he
sprang into his own seat, turned the wheel, and the huge machine shot
down the road. But at the first curve it slackened speed, then stopped
for an instant beside a dark figure, and when it went on again four
instead of three rode.

Picard sat beside his daughter and in those two faithful hearts was no
doubt of their escape.

John, watching intently, sent the machine forward at fair speed. The
road again stretched before him lone and white in the moonlight, which
fell in a heavy silver shower. He did not know where they were going,
but there was the road, and the hussars could not ride hard enough to
overtake them. Now and then he stole a glance at Julie, and the same
indomitable courage was always shining in her eyes. She was not weary
and she was as wide awake as he. By and by both Antoine and Suzanne
slept, sitting upright, but Julie, wrapped almost to the eyes in cloak
and hood, was still quiet, watching everything with wide fearless eyes.
John brought the machine down to a slow pace and guided it for the
moment with one hand.

"Julie," he said softly, "I don't know where we're going, but I know
that we'll escape, and knowing it I now have something to ask you."

The other hand came from the wheel and as he leaned back, they kissed in
the moonlight. The great machine ran on, unguided but true. They kissed
again in the moonlight, and for a splendid moment or two her arms were
about his neck.

The automobile, still unguided, ran on straight and true as if it were
alive, and knew that it carried the precious freight of two young and
faithful hearts, and that nothing else in all the world was so tender
and true as young love.

Far in the night, when the road had climbed up the hills, John saw a
light flashing and winking in the valley, and from a more distant point
another light winked and flashed in reply. He read the fiery signals and
he knew that the alarm was abroad. The hussars had come to Obenstein,
only to find that the birds had flown, and doubtless, too, to find among
the bushes the dead body of Weber, Prince Karl's most trusted and
unscrupulous agent. Julie had gone to sleep at last and Antoine and
Suzanne slumbered on.

He alone watched and worked, and for a few moments he felt a chill of
dread. The hussars would spread the alarm and the whole country would
now be seeking them. He saw a road turning from the main one, and
leading deeper into the mountains. Instinctively he followed it, like an
animal seeking hiding in the wilderness, and now the machine rose fast
on the slopes, dense forest lining the way on either side. Far below in
the valley the lights and the wireless signals talked incessantly to one
another and the hounds were hot on the chase.

It was about halfway between midnight and morning when John stopped the
machine among dense pines on the very crest of a mountain, where the
road, without any reason, seemed to end. Antoine awoke with a start and,
springing out, began to curse himself under his breath for having gone
to sleep.

"Take no blame, Antoine," said John. "You could have done nothing then,
and it was much better for you to have slept. You now have back all your
strength and we may need it."

Julie awoke with a start and after a moment or two of bewilderment
understood. Then she gave John that old brilliant, flashing look,
softened now by the memory of a kiss when no hand was at the wheel.

"Julie," said John, trusting as ever in her courage, "we seem to have
come to the end of things. Our enemies are in the valley following us,
and it's not hard to trace the path of our automobile. I don't know how
many will come, but Antoine and I can make a stand with the rifles."

"All hope is not yet lost!" said Suzanne, in a voice as deep as that of
a man. "Remember that when the earth cannot hide us the air may open to
receive us. Remember, too, Mademoiselle Julie, that your brother seeks
you, and when the time comes we are to look aloft."

Driven again by that extraordinary impulse, John and Julie gazed up. But
they saw only the dancing stars in the blue velvet of the sky.

"He may come! He may come in time!" said Suzanne, speaking like an
inspired prophet of old, and her manner carried conviction. John,
clinging to the last desperate hope, recalled how Lannes and he had
summoned Castelneau and Mery from the sky to save them, and though it
was a wild hope he resolved to send up the same signal.

It was a quick task to gather dry wood and build a little heap, Julie
and Suzanne helping with energy and enthusiasm. There were plenty of
matches in the car, and presently John lighted the heap, which crackled
and sent up leaping tongues of flame.

"It may serve also as a signal to those who follow us," he said, "but
we must take the chance. Cavalry can't reach us except by the road that
we came and with our rifles we can hold it a long time."

The mention of the word "rifle," put a thought in the head of Antoine
Picard, in whose veins the blood of Vikings flowed, and who that night
was a veritable Viking of the land. Leaving John and the two women to
feed the signal fire, he secured one of the powerful breech-loading
rifles from the automobile, and quietly stole down the path.

Antoine, although he held a modern weapon in his hand, had shed
centuries of civilization. As still as death as he trod lightly in the
dark road, he was, nevertheless, consumed with the wild Berserk rage
against those who followed him. He knew that hussars would soon appear
on the slope, but he intended that a lion should be in their path and he
stroked lovingly the barrel of the powerful breech-loader. Behind him
the flames were shooting higher and higher, pouring red streaks against
the velvet blue of the sky. But all of Picard's attention was
concentrated now on what lay before him.

He heard soon the distant beat of hoofs and he drew a little to the side
of the road, down which he could see a long distance, as it stretched
straight before him, narrow and steep. He made out clearly a half dozen
figures, hussars struggling forward on tired horses, and he chuckled a
little to himself. It was a splendid weapon that he held in his hand,
and he was a great marksman. Armed as he was, he felt that he had
little to fear on that lone mountain road from six or seven horsemen.

He pushed the rifle forward a little and waited in the shadow of the
pines. The hoofbeats rang louder, and the shadows became the distinct
figures of horses and men. Picard uttered a deep "Ah!" because he
recognized the one who led them, a powerful, erect man, the Prussian
Rudolf von Boehlen, now in the very center of the moonlight.

When they were yet two hundred yards away, Picard stepped into the
middle of the road and called to them in a loud voice to halt. He saw
von Boehlen throw up his head, say something to his troop, and then try
to urge his horse to a faster gait.

Picard sighed. He knew that von Boehlen was a brave man and he respected
brave men. A disagreeable task lay before him, one that must be done,
but he would give him another chance. He called again and louder than
before for them to halt, but von Boehlen came on steadily. Then Picard
promptly raised his rifle and shot him through the heart.

When von Boehlen fell dead in the road his hussars halted and while they
were hesitating Picard shot the horses of two under them, while a third
received a bullet in the shoulder. Then all of them fled on horse or on
foot into the valley while Picard went calmly back to the fire which was
now sending its signal across the whole heavens. He told John in a
whisper of what had befallen, and soon he returned to his place in the
road to watch.

John and Julie by and by left Suzanne to feed the fire and they stood
hand in hand gazing now at the heavens and now at the dark pine forests.
The velvet blue of the sky faded into the dark hour and then the dawn
came, edged with silver, turning to pink and then to gold, like a robe
of many colors, drawn slowly out of the infinite. Suzanne suddenly
uttered a great cry.

"How do you know? You can't see yet," said John, almost afraid to hope.

"I don't need to see it! I feel it, and I know!" replied Suzanne. "Look,
how they come!"

John trembled and the hand of Julie in his own trembled too, but it was
not fear, it was the feeling that a miracle, a miracle to save them, was
coming to pass.

The four black dots moved on out of the west and John knew that they
were aeroplanes coming swiftly and directly toward their mountain. The
dawn reaching the zenith spread also to the west and the flying machines
were outlined clearly in the luminous golden haze. Then John, too,
uttered a great cry.

He knew the slender sinuous shape that led. As far as eye could reach he
would recognize the Arrow. The miracle was done. They had called to
Philip in their desperate need and he had come.

"I knew that he would come!" Julie said, as she stared wide-eyed into
the blue and gold of the heavens.

Now the aeroplanes flew at almost incredible speed, the Arrow always
at their head, poised for a few moments directly over their heads, and
then came down in a dazzling series of spirals, landing almost at their
feet.

"Philip, my brother!" exclaimed Julie, as the slender compact figure
that they knew so well stepped gracefully from the Arrow.

He took off his heavy glasses and gazed at them as they stood,
forgetting that they were still hand in hand. Then he smiled and lifting
his cap in his old dramatic way he said:

"Then it's up and away with us. Here are Caumartin, Mery and Castelneau,
old friends of yours, John, but it was Delaunois who brought me the last
news of you. Caumartin has the Omnibus, and in it the bridal pair must
travel. I can't take you with me in the Arrow now, John, as it admits
of only a single passenger. But do you, Picard, take the rifles and come
with me. We'll cover the rear of our flight. Now, hasten! Hasten!"

John and Julie in an instant were side by side in the Omnibus, Picard,
forgetting all fear of aeroplanes, was with Philip, and the four
machines rose, circling above the mountain, Caumartin's big plane
leading. John and Julie sat very close together and her hand was again
in his.

"Fear not, dearest," he said. "When all seemed lost Philip came for us."

"But you came for me first and you risked your life many times. To give
myself to you seems but a small reward for all that you've done."

Then they fell silent, their emotion too deep for speech. Philip had
spoken in jest, but it was almost like a wedding trip. The hussars below
had reached the abandoned automobile, and fired vain shots at the
disappearing aeroplanes, but John and Julie heeded them not. War and
brute passions were left behind, and they were sailing through the calm
blue ether.

Caumartin, the stalwart, was wholly absorbed in steering his great
machine and they sat behind him, very close together, still hand in
hand, watching the great panorama of the heavens, unrolled before them.
It was the most beautiful sky that they had ever seen, dyed that day
into intensely vivid colors by the master hand. Far away were great pink
terraces of color, changing to blue or gold or silver, while below them
revolved the earth, clad in deepest green, save where far peaks were
crested with snow.

Both John and Julie breathed an infinite peace. The war sank farther and
farther away, as they sailed on through peaceful heavens, surcharged
with infinite color. Both felt, with the certainty of truth, that their
troubles and dangers were over, and they now left the journey and its
needs to Philip and his able comrades.

"After we're married, Julie, you'll go to America with me for awhile,"
said John, "but we'll come back to France. We shall divide our time
between two homes, your country and mine, now the countries of both."

The hand within his own returned his pressure. Caumartin turned his
machine toward the north, avoiding neutral Switzerland, and sailing at
great speed they passed beyond the German lines and over the fair land
of France that all of them loved so well.

Caumartin kept his place in front. Suzanne was in the machine just
behind and Philip and Picard in the Arrow always hovered in the rear.
That night they descended within the French lines, and John heard the
next day that Prince Karl of Auersperg had been killed in battle. It was
singular, perhaps, but John felt a touch of pity for him. He had wanted
something very greatly and, powerful prince though he was, his power had
not been great enough to win it for him.

* * * * *

They were married in Notre Dame by the Archbishop of Paris. The
influence of John's uncle, the senator and great mining millionaire, was
sufficient to procure John's release from the army. In truth, General
Vaugirard, although he was fat and sixty, had a strong vein of
sentiment, and he was one of the most distinguished guests in Notre
Dame, where he puffed mightily and kept himself with great difficulty
from whistling his approval. He and Senator Pomeroy stood together and
he nodded emphatically when the senator told him, with a certain pride
in his whisper, that while John, his sole heir, was not a prince, he
could buy and sell many who were.

General Vaugirard was not the only distinguished officer at the
marriage. There was a lull in the operations and all of John's friends
came to Paris to see him wed the beautiful Julie Lannes. A little man,
with the brow of a Napoleon, the famous general, Bougainville, whose
rise had been so astonishing, stood beside General Vaugirard.

Daniel Colton, now a colonel, his arm in a sling, was not far away.
Carstairs was there, a bandage about his head, and Wharton was with him,
his shoulder yet sore from the path that a bullet had made through it.
It was decreed that while these friends of John's should receive many
wounds, all of them were to survive the great war.

They were to spend three days at the little house beyond the Seine
before sailing, and as the twilight came on they sat together and looked
out over the City of Light, melting into the dusk after a golden day.
The subdued hum of Paris came to them in a note of infinite sweetness
and peace.

John was stirred to the depths, but his emotion, like that of most deep
natures, was quiet. He felt Julie's hand tremble a little in his own, as
the voice of Paris grew fainter but sweeter. The twilight faded into the
night and the buildings grew misty.

"We have passed through many dangers, Julie," said John, "but for me at
least the reward is greater than them all. When did you begin to love
me?"

"You were my gallant knight from the first, but, if it had not been so,
how could I have kept from loving the fearless crusader who dared all
and who risked his life every day in the country of the enemy to save
me?"

"I'd have been a poor and worthless creature if I hadn't done so,
Julie."